


forever and always (what a beautiful lie )

by RedCrimez89



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: And love, Blood and Injury, Broken Promises, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Promises, RHATO 25, Reminiscing, You Have Been Warned, a horribly written one at that, but we don’t talk bout that haha, good dad bruce - Freeform, kinda sad ending, robin!jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:08:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24884329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCrimez89/pseuds/RedCrimez89
Summary: Bruce promises Jason that he’ll never hurt him like Willis Todd did. Turns out, he lied.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Content Warning: Implied/ Referenced Child Abuse.** It’s not graphic in any way, shape, or form but I just wanted to make that clear before reading this.
> 
> Hey there! I’m very excited to be posting this today! I’ve been working on this particular story for awhile now and I’m glad I can finally post it on here. Bruce, as always, might be a little OOC for some people, but I just imagine him this way. Also, there is a chapter two in the makes right now, so if you are interested in reading the last chapter than just hit the subscribe button and it should email you when I eventually post it. Thanks for reading, feel free to leave prompts and suggestions, and enjoy!

Over the past several years, Bruce has become accustomed to the prospect of feeling fear. (And definitely not the subtle kind). It’s an emotion he’s endured a multitude of times; a long, lost friend he used to forge ‘The Batman’ persona. And as inane as it seems, he genuinely feels as though this might be the most dreadful episode of sheer terror that he’s ever had to force down. Bruce can feel it deep down in his gut, lingering with the mass of an anvil. The myriad of thoughts that cling onto a thin thread of hope say, “Jason isn’t dead; he’s only a few rooftops away,” has long since been devoured into the abyss of overwhelming grief and unexpressed emotion that is Bruce’s mind. No matter how many times he attempts to think positively, his mind instantly refutes them with the “but’s” and “what-ifs” that only make his heart beat faster.

As Bruce sprints and leaps from rooftop to rooftop, his heart pounds. It palpitates with a perpetual _thu-thump thu-thump_ in his ears as he pumps his legs harder, faster. Because he needs to reach Jason before he bleeds out, or gets kidnapped, or– Bruce shoves his thoughts away, knowing good and well they’ll impede his progress and force him to overthink _everything_. (Nothing good ever happens when he overthinks things, that’s for sure.) 

Right now, the most sensible course of action is to be Batman; stoic and under control, indifferent towards almost everything. But Bruce finds that he doesn’t have it in him to be a brick wall right now - Jason’s words, not his. Not when Jason is alone and bleeding out. Not when his son needs his father more than his mentor. And oddly enough, Bruce realizes that he doesn’t particularly _care_ about it. 

The world around him has seemingly frozen, if only to make Bruce suffer longer. He feels as though there are eyes watching his every move in anticipation, waiting to see if he’ll fail or succeed in his rush to get to his son. My son, Bruce thinks in awe. How had Jason - the boy who knew starvation, abuse, and death better than anyone. The boy who hesitated to trust and changed himself so people would like him - became this brilliant boy he called _son_ so quickly? It feels like only a day ago that he was introducing the kid to his home. It feels like a day ago that Jason was trying to prove a point: he wasn’t worth it and Bruce should get rid of him, kick him on the curb and drive off like nothing ever happened. And crap - now he definitely needs to get to Jason quickly because his boy probably still thinks he isn’t worth much. Jason probably thinks Bruce doesn’t love him. Probably thinks Bruce is going to leave him there to perish in solitude– _oh god_. Just the thought alone is enough to motivate him to continue sprinting despite the ache in his legs.

Bruce is fairly certain that he’s been running for a couple of hours or perhaps decades, because his legs throb when he finally comes to a halt. They wobble and tremble a bit and he stumbles for only a moment before regaining his balance. When he finally looks up, he’s met with the sight of a bird with broken wings, waiting for a bat to come mend them together; to make all the pain go away; to make everything make _sense_ again. Robin is surrounded by a puddle of crimson, undoubtedly his own blood. The red fabric (along with the green and yellow parts) of the costume has been stained into a darker shade of red and Bruce can feel the bile rising in his throat. He wants to vomit at the sight. Two black gloves, slick with blood, fumble and shake intensely as they try to staunch the blood gushing out Jason’s abdomen. 

Bruce can hear him hissing out long strings of profanity, ones Alfred would surely wash his mouth out for, as he tries to take in deep, measured breaths to ease away the agony. It doesn’t seem to be working. “Robin!” He barks out, voice deep and husky. The older man finds himself crouched down next to Jason before he can even realize he’s moving.

“Oh… h-hey, B…” Jason slurs, his words cracking and throat dry by the way he croaks those words out. “J-jus’ bleedin’ out here…nothin’ too…too ser’ous.” 

Relief floods through his body, clouding his ability to move and think for a brief moment. It spreads from his chest to his arms and legs and the tips of his fingers and toes. And Bruce lets out a long breath he wasn’t aware of holding because Jason is alright. Jason is _breathing_ and _alive_ and not dead. Bruce sighs softly and pulls back the cowl to reveal an old, tired face with soft blue eyes. They stare affectionately (and worriedly) at the boy beneath him. “ Yeah Jay… it’s me. I’ve got you alright? And stop downplaying your injuries.” He revives a snort, sheepish grin, and hiss of pain for his troubles. Bruce presses two fingers to the comm in his ear, notifies Alfred that Jason is injured, and pulls his cowl back up. Just in time, Alfred notifies him the Batmobile is in an alley below them and should take them home once they settle down. He tightly wraps the boy's cape around his bleeding abdomen in hopes of slowing down the blood flow. _Why’d I let Jason patrol alone again? Oh yes, I didn’t._ Gingerly, he picks him up and carefully makes his way down to street level. And soon enough, the two are speeding back to the cave.

The ride back is mostly full of silence. They have a few short conversations along the way, slipping into playful banter as if nothing had happened. (He's saving the long lecture about following orders for later.) Jason had found it painful to laugh (and to do anything quite frankly) so Bruce decided to stay quiet the rest of the way back. His glove clad hand eventually found itself carding through matted, raven curls. It smoothed the hair away from Jason’s forehead, gently rubbed his scalp the way he knew the boy secretly loved. Jason has leaned into the affection, too tired and pained to swat the hand away and seemingly starved from any type of affectionate contact. (Plus, Jason kind of thinks...he likes it. Although he’d never admit to anyone.) And as Bruce sits there, watching Jason as the Batmobile drives them to the cave, it’s then that he knows: he’d do _anything_ for this boy. 

* * *

When Jason wakes up, there’s not much he can remember. All he knows is that he went on patrol . Alone. For the first time. _Ever_ (without permission might he add). Yeah, he’s starting to figure out how this all turned out wrong. So much for proving himself worthy of the Robin title. The strong smell of disinfectant is present in the room, making Jason’s noise flare at the potency. There’s also leather and aftershave present, very faint but still there. And that's how Jason comes to this conclusion: he definitely messed up and now he’s a prisoner sentenced to bed rest and worried (more like overprotective) parental figures. _Yay_. Just his luck.

Slowly, he wills his eyes to open and only falters a few times from the blinding light. The room is pristine and white, definitely of Alfreds doing. Jason attempts to sit up, only to let out a brief cry before laying back down. He bites his trembling lip as tears form in his eyes, blueing his vision. He honestly forgot about the injury he managed to acquire tonight. Now he just feels dumb. “ _Shh, shh._ It's alright Jason. Just take a deep breath.” A deep, familiar voice speaks and when he turns his gaze to the source of it, Bruce comes into view.

 _“_ _Bruce.”_ He gasps, the blinding hot pain surging through his body as his chest heaves. He’s panicking - for no reason might he add - but he can’t help it. Not when he’s felt this kind of pain before in another life. Not when most - if not all - memories of this pain are connected with tall men with crooked smiles and a gun positioned against his temple. Jason grabs Bruce’s wrist and squeezes, silently pleading for him to make all the memories stop. To make all the pain go away. And Bruce swears he’s never felt his heart break at such an extent when he sees the desperation and fear written across Jason’s face.

Bruce grabs Jason’s other wrist gently and guides it to his chest, placing his palm flat against it. “ Breathe with me alright? In…” He inhales and Jason feels it under his palm and tries to copy him. “... Out.” _Exhale._ There are many moments of heaving, coughing, sputtering to take in the much needed oxygen. But eventually, Jason has calmed down and is able to take deep breaths without (too) much trouble. “ How are you feeling?” Bruce asks after minutes of deep breaths and dull pain. 

“ Like I was hit with a sledgehammer a couple of times, ran over by a train, and bashed over the head.” He shrugs, wincing from the action. 

The latter lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, the corners of his lips nudging up. “ That tends to happen when you go out on patrol, alone, with no backup whatsoever.” He says, but not in a reprimanding way. It confuses Jason. He’d snuck out, disobeyed orders and royally screwed up. Why hasn’t Bruce hit him yet? Why hasn’t the man yelled at him or fired him, possibly kicked him out? Jason simply doesn’t _understand._

The pair sit quietly, both soaking in each other’s presence. Bruce removed the hand from his chest and started rubbing his knuckles in small, circular motions. Jason’s cheeks become pink, a little flustered, but learned to find comfort in the action. He doesn’t know when it exactly started, but eventually a calloused hand found its way to Jason’s hair again, repeatedly smoothing the black strands away from his bandaged forehead. Jason can feel the tension, the utter fear of being punched or slapped, fade away. He leans into the touch, so easily desperate for more. 

Jason hates himself for it. For how effortless it had been to make him open up and connect with this man. For how easy it has been to love someone again without the fear of them leaving him on his own. ( Just like his Mom has done…)

He feels himself slowly slipping away from consciousness. The hand is successfully lulling him to sleep, ensuring that Jason knows Bruce is right there with him.

(He hates himself even more for the fact that he believes the man won’t leave him.)

“ Please don’t ever do that again Jay-lad…. you almost gave me a heart attack, I swear.” He breaks the silence abruptly, voice low.

Jason jumps at his voice, startled for a moment as sharp pain spreads through his body. With a few deep breaths he manages to find his voice again. “ Your… you're not gonna hit me? Or kick me out? Or punish me? Like, at all?” He dares to ask, voice cracking at the possibility it just might happen now that he’s asked such a question. He hopes he sounds fearless. Like he can take the pain. Maybe it’ll hurt less if he convinces himself that he is fearless.

Bruce stares at him in shock from the statement. Like Jason’s grown an extra head and a pair of wings. ( The wings would be cool though. He imagines himself having large, red ones.) Something in Bruce’s mind seems to click because he goes from shocked to something utterly dark. Even for Batman. And that’s saying something 

His eyes become hard and something cold and dark swirl behind them. His jaw is set, hands clenched and teeth gritted. Like he’s trying to hold back the ire that’s rising in his chest like lava, seconds away from spurting out magma. Jason doesn’t have a very good Bruce translator, but those three signs mean he’s angry. And not the (kinda) subtle you-scratched-the-Batmobile kind. More like the you-put-your-hands-on-my-kid kind. This anger is something Jason has never seen before. Sure, he’s seen Bruce upset and irritated. But not like this. With blue eyes that practically pierce through him and a vicious expression. He looks like he’s ready to tear someone’s head off. 

And for a moment, Jason is fairly certain Bruce is about to lash out at him.

Bruce's anger suddenly fades away, all the hot magma cooled down into igneous rock. He seems to remember Jason is there and his expression softens, sadness and worry lingering there; _pity._ What for? Jason isn’t quite sure. All he knows is that he definitely doesn’t need it. “ Jason…” Bruce breathes out, moving a hand to cup his check gently. He instinctively leans into the comforting hand.

“ I would never, ever, put my hands on you in such a way. Do you hear me? There is no scenario where I'd _ever_ hit you. For anything.” The hand moves to grab Jason’s chin, forcing him to look into soft blue eyes. “ Understand?” Bruce asks, firm and determined to make Jason see the truth: Bruce would never hurt him.

Jason nods, not trusting his voice to answer for him. Bruce lets go and leans forward to gently pull him into a hug, wary of his wounds and bruises. Something nostalgia hits him. Reminds him of nights full of screaming and yelling, shards of glass from broken beer bottles and the stinging throb left after a good hit or two. It reminds him of the acrid smell of alcohol and smoke, the hot tears and pleading for his father to _please, please stop_. 

And despite knowing how extremely childish it is, he asks Bruce if he promises like some little kid. As if something as inane and idiotic like a pinky promise would never be broken.

The latter pulls back and looks Jason in the eyes. “ Promise.” He says

“ For forever? Till the end of time?” The boy asks with a tilt of his head, wondering if the man would dedicate himself to such a promise.

But all he does is smile and reply with, “ Always Jaybird.”

( That promise was broken within the next couple of years.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe forever and always was just too much to ask...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m excited to finally be able to post this! I’ve been working on other projects (subscribe to my profile if your interested in reading more of my works) so it’s been hard for me to finish this last chapter. It is definitely short and it doesn’t have a happy ending, but I think it fits. Enjoy <3

The sound of car horns and blazing police sirens is comforting in a way. Unlike everything in Jason’s life right now, it is not foreign to him, no. They are the sounds that are connected to another life. A life that died many years ago in Ethiopia; The life of a street rat. The life of a dead Robin. And despite being someone entirely different, someone  _ new _ and yet still the same in every way _ ,  _ the noise still possesses the same effects that it had prior to being murdered. It’s become a white noise, a buzzing in the background of all his problems. And maybe it’s stupid but he’s glad it’s there. Much better than the suffocating silence that would surely form if it were not, much better than drowning in his thoughts with nothing to distract from it.

When Jason makes it to the gargoyle, the one he befriended and confided in all those years ago, he’s greeted by Gotham herself. She smells of pollution and smoke, corruption and cruelty. She smells of injustice and crimes, blood and death. But Jason is familiar with these aspects of her. It’s part of her personality. All of those things, all the horrible and horrific things that occur in this city are qualities that have forged her into this cruel little thing. It’s turned her streets into ones of poverty, transformed the rich into manipulators and liars, people who wear masks to make themselves seem better than they really are.

That’s why he’s doing this, Jason tells himself. He’s removing the scum - the rapists and the drug dealing pimps. The mobsters and the murderers - so that no one else has to suffer. He’s taking lives to save lives, a small price to pay for the safety of everyone. Jason is doing what is  _ right _ . He’s doing what Batman can’t do,  _ refuses _ to do. 

Jason shoves his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He lights it and takes in a drag, blowing out the smoke with ease. It’s not good for him, sure, but it’s one of the only things keeping his buzzing thoughts at bay. That along with the sense of serenity that shrouds him from this altitude. He looks down onto the city of Gotham and it is exactly how he remembers it. Below him, the city lights illuminate brightly amongst the dark. The sound of traffic is present and it’s a generally quiet night, a rare thing in Gotham City. 

A sigh escapes his mouth as he leans back. He hasn’t felt this… content in quite awhile. It’s hard to feel such things when all your dreams are the same; metal smashing onto skin over and over again, broken bones and muffled screams. Manic laughter, red lipped smiles, and red numbers counting down (3, 2, 1.  _ Boom _ ). It’s hard to feel such a way when all you can see is acid green, the urge to  _ destroy  _ and  _ hurt  _ multiplying as a slivering voice persuades you to give into the anger bubbling up in your chest. It’s hard to feel all that and more when your catonic, devoid of any feeling and memories, of any  _ live _ . So granted, he hasn’t felt this way in a while. He hadn’t been able to respite from the commotion in his life until now.

Jason remembers when he was able to though. He remembers a time where he had believed everything would stay the same, that nothing would change. He had been naive back then, despite his time on the corrupt streets of Gotham. The moment things started looking up for him, he’d forgotten the  _ one rule:  _ Never trust  _ anything  _ or  _ anyone.  _ But he had forgotten about that a while later. Jason discarded his one rule, the one that kept him alive for years, and decided to trust Bruce. He put faith in him, in Batman, and for that, he paid greatly. Jason tried to save a woman who betrayed him, a woman who didn’t care about him at all. He tried to save his mother - the one by blood, not by choice - and felt his heart break to pieces along with his bones as The Joker beat him to death with a crowbar. And to top that, his mentor didn’t even do anything about it. He just let the psychotic clown run around and cause more death and heartbreak. And then he replaced Jason as if nothing had ever happened.

It was then that he was reminded of the one rule he’d abandoned. It was then that there was a voice in his head screaming and reprimanding him for ever being so stupid, so foolish. And with nothing left in him, not enough to even cry, he whispered a sorry with his last moments. One that fell upon deaf ears, one that is not acknowledged because no one is aware of it. He’s sure not sorry anymore. He has no reason to. Not when Bruce never even cared about him in the first place. He wonders if the man just took him in as a replacement because he was missing Dick. Or if he just wanted to utilize him to the greatest capacity possible, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because there’s proof of those things being true. There’s proof he was (is) replaceable, that he meant nothing to the man. There’s proof that he wasn’t a son, just a soldier. There’s proof that he never cared and he never would, for Jason was just a toy soldier among the many allies he had wrapped around his gloved gauntlet. 

Jason looks to the left with a soft sigh, jumping when he realizes Robin is there. That _he’s_ there. His Robin self sits beside him with his legs pulled to his chest, arms around them with his chin rested on his knees. It reminds Jason of the night when Bruce had told him he’d definitely fail as Robin and that he’d be there to pick him back up with each and every tumble. ( Seems you missed a couple of falls along the way, he thinks bitterly.) He remembers grinning up at him, all the anxiety and weight on his chest gone at the promise (one of the many others that have been broken along the years.) 

Robin doesn’t speak to him. Doesn’t even look at him or acknowledge his presence. That’s fine, Jason thinks. He knows his younger self won’t outright talk to him. He was that boy once after all. He returns his gaze to the smoggy skies, leaning back against the smoothed stone once more. “ Hey kid.” He tries, looking at Robin from his preprial vision. Robin still doesn’t move or speak. He just stares at the sky with a little frown on his face.

“ He lied to you **.** ” Jason says, blowing out another drag of smoke.

_ “To us _ ” goes unsaid.

“ Yeah… can’t say it was unexpected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I have waited for my beta to read this for me? Yes, most definitely. But I got a little antsy 😂

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the crappy injury parts heh. I’m not too good with the medical stuff so we’ll just pretend it wasn’t horrible. Have a nice day ❤️


End file.
